


Surrender

by Aenorno



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls Online
Genre: F/M, Sexual Tension, Sparring, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 16:01:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17124410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aenorno/pseuds/Aenorno
Summary: Holgunn and Nevia have a semi-healthy way of working out their differences.





	Surrender

A resounding crack sounded off the training yard's stone walls like the lash of a whip, punctuated by a bellowed swear that rivaled the volume of the original blow.

The Pact soldiers training in the yard whipped from their sparring partners in time to see their commander covered in blood. It ran down in an ugly river from his nose, now bent at a painful angle.

A hush fell across the yard as the great Nord spat on the ground and readied his sword and shield, unfazed by his injury. His eye was no more than a dark blue slit as he watched his partner- one Captain Nevia Sadri- stalk towards him.

“Underhanded,” Holgunn growled, the bulging muscles in his arms pulled as taut as bowstrings.

Nevia only laughed, flexing the hand she used to break his nose. “Don't sound so surprised, Commander. I thought that was how I did things, according to you."

“Shut up and fight, Sadri.” He lunged for her again.

The sight was enough to give anyone pause. The Nord commander of Davon’s Watch towered a foot above Nevia, every muscle and scar on his body a living testament to his famed service in the Akaviri War. Few sane soldiers would challenge him, sparring or otherwise.

Then again, it was rumored that Nevia Sadri wasn't entirely sane.

The Dunmer captain's wild curls stuck to her damp forehead in red streaks, snaking down her angular face like rivulets of blood. Her glowing rubied eyes and snarl made for a truly terrifying picture- a horrible angel of death come to exact her payment. Everyone knew the stories, despite efforts by the top brass to quell the gossip. 

The Akaviri war veteran versus the Coldharbour escapee. An unstoppable force meeting an unmovable wall. The surrounding soldiers glanced to and fro, faces scrunched up in thought as they tried to predict who would win. The clink of exchanged coin passed between the boldest of the soldiers.

They clashed horribly. The display was a violent game of chess, both of them trying to outwit the other and maintain control of the battle. Holgunn's sword brushing a hair within her navel, Nevia's dual daggers just missing the exposed skin of his neck. Back and forth they danced, sweat pouring down their faces and the barest hint of a smile crossing their lips when the other performed a move that almost got them. 

Nevia's second in command, Runs-With-Wind, paused in his instruction of a fresh recruit, carefully placing down the practice swords to observe the clash.

“Shouldn’t someone stop them, sir?” the recruit whispered, nervously wringing his hands as the clang of clashing weapons rang out again. Nevia deftly parried Holgunn’s massive sword, but only just barely.

Wind didn't take his eyes from the fight. “No.”

The recruit fidgeted, wrestling with his curiosity and deference to the stoic Lieutenant. “Why not, sir?”

A nearby Dunmeri sergeant chuckled, shooting the recruit a pitying look. "You really are new here, huh?"

Holgunn slammed his shield squarely into Nevia’s chest, sending her flying on her back. A collective wince shuddered through the ranks as she hit the ground with a dull thunk.

“Son of a bitch!” she gasped, her expletive ending on a strangled bit of air.

She rolled, narrowly avoiding the foot meant to pin her down. Performing some sort of strange twirl, she struck the backs of his knees with the hardwood of the practice weapons. Holgunn cried out in pain, his knees buckling, and Nevia put her swords to his throat.

Not a breath escaped anyone. 

The elf leaned in close so that her breath brushed his hair. Their heaving chests met every time they exhaled.

“I’ll take that surrender now, _n'wah_.”

Holgunn snorted. “Not likely.”

Nevia shrugged, her mouth curled in a mirthful smirk. “I don’t know,” she whispered, not sparing their audience a second glance, “I think you’d like surrendering to me, _Commander_.”

Holgunn’s eye darkened.

With speed that should’ve been impossible for someone his size, Holgunn’s arms shot out and shoved Nevia. She stumbled, trying desperately to keep her footwork, but there’s not much one can do with six feet of Nord plowing into you.

Triumphant, he secured her arms above her head, pushing her swords out of her reach and pinning her down with all his weight. With a slow, deliberate movement, he put his mouth just a breath away from her pointed ear.

“I’m not the type to surrender,” he rasped, just barely audible for those close enough to hear.

“ _What is going on here?_ ”

Any Davon’s Watch soldier knew the Grandmaster’s voice by heart. They snapped to attention comically quickly, shooting surreptitious glances at the panting Holgunn and Nevia. Reluctantly the pair dropped their weapons, turning to face their boss with faces like stone.

A dropped pin would've been as loud as a thunderclap.

“Training, Grandmaster,” Holgunn provided stiffly, staring off at some stone in the distance.

Indoril’s eyebrows crept towards his hairline. “Training.”

“Yes, sir,” Nevia affirmed breathlessly, vainly trying to keep her chest from heaving.

The Grandmaster’s gaze wandered to Holgunn’s bloody nose. “I see.”

The sergeant's mouth worked furiously to keep himself from bursting into laughter. Wind shot him a pointed glance.

“It appears your _training_ is disrupting the general improvement of our recruits.” Grandmaster Indoril’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. “Dismissed.”

Holgunn and Nevia walked away with a determinedly dignified aura, their shoulders back and chins pointedly high and away from each other. The training yard collectively exhaled.

Wind turned back to his recruit, business-like and curt as if nothing happened. “There.”

He frowned. “Sir?”

“Your question. Sparring is good for tension. Keeps morale up. That's why you don't stop them.” Wind tossed him his sword. "Enough questions. Show me that move I taught you earlier."

The recruit's eyes flicked to and fro between the Argonian and Nevia's retreating back. 

"Yes sir."


End file.
